Other Cultures
by Jack Of Some Trades
Summary: Suddenly, those with a higher magical ancestry are stricken with a sudden speech impediment. Who is behind it? And how did I change the entire plot of this story in one chapter?
1. Buzzard Fawkes

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If I owned the characters, I wouldn't be writing fics, now would I? I'd be living in a million-dollar mansion with House-Elves waiting on me hand and foot.

Harry woke up early, still on what he called "Dursley Time", but he was shocked to find his scar was not in mind numbing pain. After half an hour of staring at the inside of his eyelids, he decided he probably wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon. He grabbed some clothes, grinning at his lack of socks, and went to take a shower.

Fifteen minutes later, he descended into the Common Room, clean and clothed. He hadn't expected too many people up this early, especially on a Saturday, and he wasn't wrong. The Creevey brothers were in the corner looking at pictures, Hermione was in a chair near the fire reading, and Fred and George had a large purple sack and were giggling like idiots. Harry made a mental note to avoid that part of the Common Room as he walked over to his friend.

"Morning, Hermione," he yawned, sitting in the chair next to her. "What're you reading?"

"Hmm?" Hermione asked as she looked up from her book. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wasn't listening. I'm reading this American novel." She held it up so Harry could see the title.

"_To Kill a Mockingbird_," he read aloud. "I think they made us read that in Muggle school. It was odd, to say the least."

"Don't ruin it for me!" she cried. "I'm only halfway done."

"Okay, then." Harry picked up a Transfiguration text from the table in front of him and looked through it absentmindedly. He came across a chapter he found interesting about turning phoenixes into buzzards and vice-versa. "This could be useful," he muttered to himself. Professor Dumbledore had mentioned that Fawkes had been coming down with a fever, and the upcoming burning day would no doubt be detrimental to his health.

Just as he got to the theory behind the spell, Ron and Ginny stumbled into the Common Room. Ron had, apparently, not taken a shower yet. As if moving with one mind, they both plopped down on a sofa next to him. "Morning guys," Ron mumbled, eyes still half closed. "What's new?"

"I think I may have found something to help Fawkes," Harry said. "He'd just have to be Transfigured—"

"Nobody cares," Ron and Ginny interrupted. Ginny then continued, "Sorry, Harry, but Weasleys are not morning people."

Just as Harry was about to thank Ginny for pointing out the obvious, Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "'Doooo-Jesus'?" Her three friends looked at her looked at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I never did figure that out. Now, if you three will excuse me, I'm going to go find someone who cares." He stood and tucked the book under his arm.

"You mind if I join you, Harry? We can go to breakfast together afterwards," Ginny said, rising from her seat. Harry, being Harry, had little desire to turn her down.

"Very well. Shall we go, Milady?" Harry said with a courteous bow.

"Let's, good sir."

As they walked away, they heard Hermione mention something about bad grammar, to which Ron replied, "Grammar? Harry and Ginny speak the language of love."

~*~

Harry and Ginny walked hand-in-hand to the gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office. After some guesswork by the two, they finally found the right password ("Mint Skittles") and were able to enter.

Entering the office, they saw Professor Dumbledore standing over his Pensieve, reliving some old memory. As they waiting patiently for him to finish, Harry's gaze fell on the ill bird. He looked very haggard, as if he'd not moved for months.

"Harry, Ginny," Dumbledore said suddenly. His voice startled Harry, and looking at Ginny, he saw that he wasn't the only one. "What can I help you with?"

"Actually, Professor, I was hoping I could help you," Harry said, and winced. _I sounded like a Muggle salesman, _he thought. If Dumbledore had noticed, he pretended not to. Ginny, however, gave him a bit of a look. "I found a spell for Fawkes," he explained, handing Professor Dumbledore the textbook. "That way, you won't have to worry about a burning day."

Suddenly, Harry realised how stupid he'd been. It was a fifth-year book, and Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of modern times. _Of course he'd know this, you idiot!_ his brain screamed at him. He wasn't surprised at all when Dumbledore chuckled a little. "I can't believe I didn't think of this," Dumbledore said, more to himself than to Harry and Ginny. "And I was a Transfiguration teacher."

Harry stood dumbfounded. Dumbledore continued, "I guess that we all make mistakes." Harry shut his mouth, which he realised he'd had hanging open.

Ginny, who'd been silent the whole time she'd been there, finally spoke up. "Sir? You were a Transfiguration teacher?"

"Yes, Miss Weasley. Years ago." With that, Dumbledore got up and walked over to his pet. He pointed his at Fawkes and muttered the spell, and in a flash of light, a buzzard sat in his place. "There we are."

Just as Buzzard-Fawkes started to get used to his new form, Ginny's stomach rumbled rather loudly. Stifling a laugh, Harry asked the headmaster if they could go on to breakfast. "Certainly," the Headmaster replied. "Oh, and twenty points to Gryffindor. Well done, Harry."

~*~

"Well, done, Harry!" Ginny echoed as soon as they were out of Dumbledore's office. She kissed him on the cheek, and he blushed.

"It was nothing," Harry replied. "I didn't do the spell, I just found it."

"It was too, Harry," Ginny insisted. "Dumbledore himself didn't think of it. Neither did McGonagall, and she's teaching it now."

Harry was going to reply, but then the exchange student came around the corner at a run. "What's her name?" he asked Ginny. "I can't remember."

"Imogen… something," Ginny answered.

As she reached the two, she stopped long enough to yell, "Ginny! Harry! Babies! Right now! More babies! Bring on the babies! AHHHHHH!!!" She then resumed running.

Moments later, Malfoy tore around the corner, apparently chasing the American. "Get back here with my underwear! Strawberry is hard to come by!" he screamed.

Malfoy blew past the two, and Harry turned to Ginny. "That was… odd," he observed, looking down the corridor at the irate Slytherin.

"She's not as bad as that Paula girl," Ginny retorted.

"That's true. The other night she said to me, 'Harry, I need you to lie on the floor for a few months. Could you do that for me?'"

They resumed their walk to the Great Hall, and, realising it was still early, expected it to be somewhat empty. To their great surprise, it looked as if most of the school had already arrived. Harry and Ginny took their usual seats across from Ron and Hermione, and Ginny asked, "What's going on?"

Ron, his mouth full of bacon, replied, "Mgnl tld ss t cmm errl."

Hermione translated the bacon-speak into English. "Professor McGonagall told us to come to breakfast early. Professor Dumbledore has some sort of announcement."

"Why didn't he mention it to us when we were in there?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Maybe he wanted to tell the whole school all at once," Ginny ventured. "Or maybe he was still distracted with Buzzard-Fawkes."

They expressed a few guesses as to the nature of the announcement, from Snape and McGonagall's engagement to what exactly the newest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was (Ron insisted that she was a vampire). Eventually, Dumbledore took his usual seat, and the whole room became quiet.

"Welcome students!" he said jovially, a twinkle in his eye. "I apologise for waking you so early, but this news must be told. It has come to my attention that while, academically, we are one of the finest schools in the world—" here he had to stop for applause—"we are oblivious to other cultures."

Dumbledore stopped for a moment, and a confused silence overtook the room. Dumbledore continued, "Therefore, for the next month, we will experiment with other cultural influences, be they magic or Muggle." A cross look then graced most of the faces of the Slytherin table.

"Meals will be culturally different, perhaps Chinese one night and French another." Ron grimaced at the mention of French food; he never did fall in love with bouillabaisse. "Language classes will be offered to those who want them, and those who are already fluent are invited to help teach." Hermione and Ginny, both of which were fluent in French, looked delighted. Harry had an odd look on his face, and Ron buried his head in his arms. "And finally, Quidditch will be temporarily replaced by American football."

There were very few faces in the room that weren't outraged by this. Cries of objection reached out from each and every table, especially Gryffindor. With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, though, all the voices were silenced to hardly a whisper. "That's better," he said. "Now, this will start tomorrow. For those of you who may be interested in the football teams, please see Madam Hooch."

Their voices were returned, and one would not have to listen hard to hear grumbling. Ron picked at the rest of his bacon, and, while Harry visibly had some reservations about the loss (albeit temporary) of Quidditch, he still had the odd pensive look on his face he'd had since Dumbledore's announcement of language classes.

"I can't believe this," Ron whined. "Just when I make the team, he takes it away."

Hermione was usually the voice of reason in this type of situation, and this time was no exception. "Oh, come now, Ron," she said, taking a drink of pumpkin juice. "Culture will be useful one day, whether it be sports or food."

"That's easy for you to say," Ron snapped. "You couldn't care less about Quidditch. Harry, help me out here!"

"Ginny, tell your brother how useful such things would be," Hermione insisted.

Knowing full well what happens to someone when they get in the middle of a Ron-Hermione tiff, they did the only logical thing. Taking a final drink of their juice, they left.

"Where're they going?" Ron asked Hermione, as they watched Harry and Ginny walk away.

"I don't know. You know, in America, one would say that they 'split'," Hermione replied, a grin on her face.

"Don't start."

~*~

"Why didn't you react like Ron did?" Ginny asked Harry once they reached the Common Room.

"Because I don't pick fights because my girlfriend's cute when she's angry," Harry answered.

"Seriously."

"Because I want to give this culture thing a try. I like the idea. Besides, I've never really seen a sport that I wasn't a major part in since I thought I was a Muggle." Harry sat down, and Ginny sat next to him.

"You mean you're not trying out for the football team?" Ginny asked.

Harry scoffed. "You haven't seen much of American football. It's brutal. Think of a game made up entirely of Millicent Bulstrodes running towards you. That's my experience with the game." He shuddered at the thoughts of the horrors of Muggle gym class.

At that point, Ron and Hermione entered the Common Room. Seeing that Ron's ears were red enough to blend in with hair, and that Hermione's hair was even bushier than usual, Harry and Ginny assumed that they had made… up.

"Feeling better about the Culture Month, Ron?" Ginny inquired, holding back a snicker.

"Yes," Ron responded. "Especially French," he added with a look at a now very red Hermione.

~*~

"I can't believe you're actually joining the football team, Ron," Harry said for the millionth time as they got back from dinner the next day.

"Not joining," Ron pointed out. "Trying out for the team. And I must go to the field… now." Ron turned the other way and ran towards the door, and Harry fell into step with his girlfriend and other best friend.

"And since it's Sunday," Hermione was saying, "we get to learn Spanish today, and Thursdays, and French on Mondays and Fridays."

"Spanish today?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes, Harry, haven't you been listening? Are you going to take it?" Hermione asked quickly, the way she says anything pertaining to academics.

"Sort of…" Harry replied, but didn't say anymore as they arrived outside Flitwick's classroom.

"Ah… you're just in time," the tiny professor said. "Please, students in the front, helpers in the back."

Hermione and Ginny sat as close to the front as they could, Hermione eager to learn anything new. Harry, however, sat in the back between Blaise Zabini and Angelina Johnson. Ginny gave him a perplexed look, and he mouthed to her _I'll explain later_.

Professor Flitwick started class then. "Hola, students! And helpers."

There weren't too many students there. Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Angelina made up the only Gryffindors. There were no Slytherins at all except Blaise, and a Hufflepuff seventh year and a first year were the only representatives of their house. By far, the most there were Ravenclaws, making up at least half of the class.

Flitwick continued, and Harry focused on remembering his verbs. _Dibujar is "to draw", I think. And leer is "to read"…_

"So helpers, you will see to any questions they might have, and if you have any problems, don't hesitate to ask me," Flitwick finally ended. He handed out some sheets of parchment for the students to work on, and retreated into his office.

Harry and the other four helpers circulated around the classroom. He was shocked when neither Hermione nor Ginny had their hands up, but assumed that their French fluency helped them in this class as well.

~*~

Class went by quickly. It was boring, for the most part. The most exciting happening was when a Ravenclaw fourth year asked how to say "Pink sock" in Spanish. Blaise had to help him, but they eventually got it translated to "El calcetine rosada". Harry quickly decided that Blaise was the only amiable Slytherin.

As Harry, Ginny, and Hermione walked back to Gryffindor Tower together, Ginny finally brought up the subject of Harry's linguistic ability. "It's really Dudley's doing," Harry explained. "He was watching television, and he decided that he wanted to learn Spanish. He took a few courses, did horribly, and the Dursleys decided that I would help him.

"Anyway, he never did get it, and when he quit, I think they put me in the cupboard for a week." Harry said this all without emotion. He was used to such things, after all.

However, emotion was not missed by the two girls. Harry was crushed between the two girls as they hugged him from either side.

"Poor Harry," Ginny said into his side. She seemed very near tears.

"I can't believe they would do that," Hermione said to his shoulder.

Harry tried to ask to be released, but all that got out was "Need… breathe…"

Once they realised that he was turning blue, they released him. "Thank you," he said. He then acknowledged their proximity to the tower. "Hey, there's the Fat Lady."

Hermione ran up and gave the password ("Hearthrug") and they entered, Harry's hand in Ginny's, and wondering if Ron made the football team.

**__**

Should I continue, or just leave my mediocre story on a quasi-cliffie?


	2. The Americanisms They Wound Me

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Disclaimer: Shocking as it may appear from my smart-ass attitude and maleness, but I am not JK Rowling. Of course, she might be a smart-ass too. She does seem to like Monty Python, which is like the smart-ass Bible, or Torah, or something to that effect. Heh. Cockroach Clusters.

**__**

In other news, my innumerable… fan, I have indeed updated and finished this story which has been blocking my writer for almost a year.

Ron, as the three found out, did make the team. In fact, his exact words were, "Dude, I made the team, dude! It's like; it's like… I don't know what it's like, but it, like, kicks ass!" This caused many a raised eyebrow in the Gryffindor common room.

"Dude, this is creeping me out," Ron said of his new way of speech. "Ah! I did it again!"

"Did you hurt your head? Is your helmet too tight?" Harry asked, inspecting Ron's head.

"I don't think so, du—mate," Ron corrected himself.

Hermione suddenly interrupted. "Could you continue this conversation once you've taken a shower?" she said smartly. "You're covered in mud and sweat."

"You don't normally mind when I'm covered in—" Whatever innuendo Ron was going to make was stopped by Hermione's hand, which was about as red as a Weasley's hair. "I'll just go take a shower," said his muffled voice.

After Ron wandered off to shower, and Hermione wandered off to study, Harry and Ginny wandered to the sofa. "Now why do you think Ron was talking like that?" Harry asked.

Ginny shrugged. "Ron has never been the hardest Bludger on the pitch. Somebody probably tackled him too hard."

"Maybe…" Harry said. "But still… he sounded… _American_." He said this in the tone of voice one would use to say, "What, you like the _Cannons_?" Not any particular malice, just a general inquisitive feeling of "Why?"

"American? Hmm."

~*~

Ron's Yankee-ness, Harry learned, would get worse before it got better.

By the end of the week, he was using words like "gotten" and "sucks" on a regular basis, and had regular conversations about football with Imogen (Ron favoured the Cincinnati Bengals).

It wasn't just Ron, either. Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff was starting to show the same symptoms, as was Malfoy. Even Ginny had trouble catching herself.

Hermione, of course, took this opportunity to use a proper application of method. She made a list of all the people being affected by the Americanism, as she'd called it.

"Look Harry," she pointed out one day after French. "See anything odd?"

Harry checked the list. It had, apparently, a long list of Slytherins with a few other houses thrown in occasionally.

__

Ron

Ginny

Neville

Fred

George

Ernie MacMillan

Draco Malfoy…

The list went on for quite a while.

"It's mostly Slytherins?" Harry guessed.

"No! Well, yes, but that's not the point," Hermione said. "Look. All purebloods. Not a Muggle-born or half-and-half in the mix."

"So? I'm pureblood, and I'm not affected."

"But your mother wasn't. See, I think this Americanism thing is only affecting the students with a high amount of magical ancestry for some reason."

"I see," Harry said, looking over her list again. "But at what point are you magically-bred enough to be affected?"

"I don't know. I suppose there must be a point. Maybe it's a disease or something, and there's a catalyst in the school," Hermione speculated.

"America is a disease. Wow, I'm not even American and I'm offended by that."

~*~

The next morning, Harry walked into the Great Hall and was greeted by a most disturbing sight. Snape and McGonagall were making out like… like… Ron and Hermione!

After about a minute of being soundly disgusted, he got up the courage to try to ask them what the hell they were doing. "Professor?" he said.

"Go away Potter. Ain't you got any sense in your head?" Snape snarled.

Harry shuddered and ran as fast as he could to find some Muggle-borns and sanity. He stumbled straight into Ron and Hermione, who were walking together into the Great Hall. "Don't go in there!" he warned. "It's… horrible!"

"Whatever, Harry, I'm freakin' hungry, dude," Ron replied, as he walked through the doors. Then, approximately two seconds later… "THAT IS SICK! OH MY GOD!" He rushed back through the doors and staggered against the wall. "Oh… I think I'm going to throw up. That was bloody disgusting. Someone point me to the loo, I'm going to be ill."

"Wait!" Hermione cried. "What did you say?"

"I said I had to go to the bloody loo before I deck the halls. Oi, wait. Got, bloody, tea and crumpets… I'm properly British again!"

"That's it, Harry!" Hermione said. "It was the shock, it sent him back to his natural instincts!"

Harry nodded and opened the door to the Great Hall just long enough to put a Silencing Charm on McGonagall and Snape. Then he pointed his wand at his own throat. "_Sonorus,_" he muttered, then, "Would all students affected by the Americanism problem please report to the Great Hall? The cure is in there. Thank you."

Within minutes, most of the students were outside the doors to the Great Hall. "Now, are you ready?" Harry asked. Everyone winced and he fixed his voice to its normal level. "Ready?"

He opened the doors and, after a few seconds, there was a collective scream. A few students fainted. But when Harry heard the first "BLOODY HELL!" he knew it had worked.

"Harry… how did you do that?" Ginny asked.

"It wasn't me. It was Ron, thinking with his stomach," Harry replied.

"Which is the problem," said Ron. "How are we going to get in there to eat?"

"We just need something more disgusting and… what's the word… impossible than McGonagall and Snape." Harry looked to Ginny, who looked to Ron, who looked to Hermione, who looked back to Harry.

"I think I may have it," said Ginny.

~*~

__

Greater good, greater good, greater good… thought Harry. "Professor?"

"What is it now, Potter?" snapped McGonagall.

"I just thought you'd like to know…" he couldn't finish.

"Harry and I have something to show you," said Harry's companion.

"Then do it quick."

Closing his eyes, and thinking about Ginny, Harry brought his lips quickly to those of his companion. Her eyes were shut just as tightly.

"Oh…" said McGonagall and Snape in unison.

"That is bloody sick!" yelled Snape.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, explain yourselves!" said McGonagall.

"We needed to shock you," Hermione explained. "And this is the only thing we could think of short of bringing You-Know-Who in here in a pink dress."

"That being done, let's get out of here, Hermione," said Harry, dragging his friend by the arm before McGonagall and Snape could untangle themselves enough to kill him.

They rushed out of their teachers' presence and into the arms of their respective Weasley.

"That was worse than I could have imagined," Ron said, holding Hermione close. "Never do it again."

"NOOOOO!" yelled a voice suddenly.

"I whole-heartedly agree," said Harry.

"You've ruined it! My beautiful Americanisms! You've destroyed them!" said the owner of the voice. It was Professor Anne D. Sox, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

"You? Why?" said Hermione.

"Because the Americans know how to speak. Everything can double as 'thing' or 'stuff', and it's perfectly acceptable to make up words where no other can fit." She was beginning to look a bit mad as she spoke. "It wasn't hard. Just a little airborne potion when you came into the classroom. It affected the purebloods first, but it would work its way down."

"Well, that does explain it all," said a somewhat amused voice from behind the professor. "I must admit, I am quite glad you did it, it saves me the trouble. It does get so tiring."

"Dumbledore! I… um… uh… gotta go!" With that, Professor Anne D. Sox dashed out the window and ran for the Forbidden Forest to Disapparate.

"Well, that is inconvenient. I suppose I'll teach the class until I find an adequate substitute," Dumbledore said, still amused. "Well done again, Harry. Everyone. Twenty points for each of you."

~*~

"I _told_ you there was something off about her," said Ron. He and Harry were playing chess in the common room after the first Quidditch game of the season. They'd won by a substantial amount.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, moving his castle to check Ron's king. "Check."

"Still, I wish you could have saved the school without kissing my girlfriend," Ron went on. "Checkmate."

"So do I," Harry agreed. "No offence to Hermione, of course. But it was a bit too much like kissing a sister."

"You kiss my sister all the time."

Harry and Ron went on like that for some time, with Harry almost winning a game of chess, and Ron almost cursing in a very British way.

Meanwhile, Ginny and Hermione were discussing the fact that kissing Harry was an activity to be left exclusively to Ginny. Ginny was more than up to the task.

**__**

We'll play a game. Here we go: not the beginning or the middle. Can you get it? Come on, it's not hard. Sounds like "flea bend".


End file.
